


Est-ce que tu m'aimes

by treesandtruce



Series: La chaleur de l'après-midi [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Baberoe, French, Louisiana, M/M, Post-War, Post-World War II, Romance, Sappy, They are so in love, This is so sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesandtruce/pseuds/treesandtruce
Summary: For Gene, the only good thing that came out of war was Babe Heffron and each morning, when he wakes up, Gene remembers why he lays down with the rouquin every night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to make clear that  
> 1\. All the characters are based on the TV series and not on the real men. This is in no way an insult.  
> 2\. This is my first mini fanfiction on here

Sleep still circulated slowly in Gene's head. The air was thick with warmth - altough that was caused by the blankets he had pulled half across his face.  
He still kept his eyes closed and breathed in the smell. The smell of Babe's warm body right next to his own. Shortly after, he opened them. Gene considered to touch him, and perhaps waking him by accident. But the desire to feel Babe's skin under his fingertips was too strong. 

So Gene moved his hand the few centimetres across the sheet and caressed the redhead's jawline ever so slightly. Babe faced Gene, causing him to stroke over the pale skin and draw the shadow that the light threw on Babe's throat.  
Gene rested his hand in the nape of Babe's neck and let his fingers trace imaginary shapes on the skin under his own.  
He moved his hand up a little, so that now his fingers ran through the red hair and his thumb laid on the soft jaw. Still no movement on Babe's side.  
Gene moved his spare arm up to use it as another pillow for securing his head. He saw tiny bits of fluff dance slowly, easily, through the sunshine that shone through from outside. 

He kept admiring Babe's facial features over and over again, trying to memorize all of it. Every square millimetere of skin.  
His lashes were light orange and a little bit dishevelled from sleeping. He had soft and almost invisible freckles in each corner of his eyes. His brows, different from his lashes, laid in one direction.  
Babe's nose moved with the air filling it.

Gene's eyes shifted up again, together with his hand, to look at Babe's closed lids. His pointure finger outlined the shape of the brows that belonged to his beloved man.  
Gene ran the middle part of his pointure finger upwards to Babe's temple and back down, across his cheekbone, to his lips. He knew them well. He knew how they wrapped around the filter of a cigarette and he knew how they turned white when Babe would press them together in confusion or effort.  
Gene rested his thumb on them and simply left it there.  
Almost right away he felt a kiss against his skin, achieving a soft smile. 

"Babe." Gene whispered a little more crooked than expected.  
He got a soft movement and a light shuffle in response. The shuffle ended up in Babe placing one leg across Gene's. 

"Did I wake you?" Gene asked stroking Babe's bottom lip from side to side. 

The redhead opened one eye and left Gene waiting for an answer.  
"Nah, " He closed his eye again but changed his mind soon after. "jus' enjoyed your touch." 

Gene leaned forward to capture his top lip in a feather light kiss. When he pulled away a little, Babe's lips seeked for a longer touch. 

"Mon chéri." Gene smiled at him. 

"Damn straight." Babe mumbled and rolled onto his back, taking a deep breath. 

He rested his arm on his chest and stared at the ceiling. The flowered blankets and the flat pillows - flat from laying on them - covered Babe's bare chest almost completely.  
Gene got the bedding from his maman as a present. That was when they inofficialy wanted to get a place for their own.  
Gene propped himself up on one elbow, the shirt he wore stretched across his shoulder. Babe angled his head to gaze at Gene.

" 's it?" Babe asked. 

"Est-ce que tu m'aimes?" The cajun man asked. 

Babe stared at him. He loved it when Gene talked french but this one sounded like a question and he had not the slightest idea what it meant.  
Babe looked back to the ceiling and scratched his neck, two lines appearing between his brows. He was thinking, trying to connect french words with their english translation. 

"'Est-ce que' means 'if' ?" Babes head quickly spun to Gene. 

He gave Babe a smile - a smile caused by Babe's terrible accent.  
Gene innocently laid his head on his clothed shoulder.  
Babe searched for the answer in Gene's face and faced the creme coloured ceiling when he didn't find it. 

"What was that, 'm'aimes'?" Babe spoke. 

Gene nodded softly, rearranging his position. His elbow dug into an elastic spring.  
Babe blew out his cheeks and exhaled.  
Gene grinned at his effort to translate a relatively simple phrase. 

"Gene, I give up." Babe shook his head slightly. 

"Do you love me." Gene translated. 

Babe turned to face him again.  
"Do you?" Babe asked in response. 

"De tout mon coeur, Babe, with all my heart."  
"I do too." Babe stared back at Gene. "Say something else." He craved a little. 

He loved every word Gene spoke french, if it was by accident or fully on purpose to taunt him.  
Gene had Babe wrapped around his little finger. The red head would hang on Gene's lips and on each syllable. He could hear and watch him talk for hours but it was heaps worse when Gene would sweet talk to him. Calling Babe saccharin words with his - not seductive, rather smooth and gentle - voice (It could be seductive, no question for Babe). The words would wrap Babe up to his throat.  
He adored almost nothing more than Gene talking in that beautiful language that he could never follow - but that was Gene's fault, Babe could do nothing against it. But he also loved Gene talking English - while sometimes Babe couldn't understand his own mother language - when Gene's south-warm and almost humid accent rolled off his toung.

He had talked to many men from the southern states but none of those spoke as slowly, gently and simply beautiful as Gene did for Babe. 

"Quand il me prend dans ses bras," Babe closed his eyes, listening carefully.  
"Il me parle tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose." Gene said and moved closer to Babe, resting his head between the space of Babe's head and freckled shoulder.  
He placed his hand between the pale skin of his colarbones and moved it up to the left side of Babe's head - across Gene's face - again, feeling each vein and once again stroking the jawline, causing Babe to turn his face slightly. His lips rested against Gene's upper forehead. 

"Mille et mille baisers donne-moi je te prie," Gene's breath hit the nape of Babe's neck gingerly.  
"Amour veut tout sans nombre, amour n'a point d-" He got more quiet with each word until he fully gave up.  
Not the grandest poem would explain what he felt for the rouquin. And besides, Babe was caressing Gene's forehead with his lips gently.


End file.
